A/N: Hey y'all, guess who's back? ;) I am so sorry, I just couldn't help myself.

Thank you to everyone who kept reading my other two stories, and for those of you who left reviews; thank you. I loved going back and reading them when I was trying to get through this story. They gave me inspiration and hope that you all would love this tale, just as much as you did those.

With that being said, "Chances" is not going to be like my other two stories. "How the World Changes" and "How the World Ends" had plotlines that revolved majorly around war. So, if you're interested in that kind of story, go ahead and pop over to read those! "Chances" however, is going to be more of a progressive type story that deals more with hurt/comfort. It will be quite a bit fluffier because of the nature of the story.

I'm still working on the few end chapters of this story, so I'm not entirely sure how long it will be yet. As for the rating, at this point, I'm rating it T, but it may or may not change later. If it does, I'll be sure to let you know, so if any younger readers feel the need to turn away, they can be forewarned.

Alright, I've talked plenty. Probably too much. Here's "Chances," and I hope you like it!

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Chapter 1: Progression

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Life had not necessarily been easy for Hermione Jean Granger. As a child she had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, which made it hard for her to participate in the normal activities that her friends did, seeing as she was continually in and out of the hospital, undergoing treatments, or at home recovering in bed. Even when she was home and doing better, the other kids in her neighborhood regarded her like a museum exhibit, not just another person. So, the continuous cycle began. Not being able to eat anything and keep it down, staying inside, and her parents constantly getting up at outrageous hours to rush her to the hospital, where she would spend hours in pain, crying and watching her parents cry, and wanting to throw up and leave. She wanted to be at home playing, or even at school; not confined to a hospital bed, constantly stuck with needles and tubes by nurses that acted far too nice. They all treated her well and tried to make her happy, all while claiming that she was going to get better and be able to go home. Hermione had a difficult time believing them until she finally did get better, and life started anew at nine years old.

Through that excruciating ordeal, Hermione had learned many things, and had discovered her lifelong joy for reading, seeing as she had spent extended hours in bed; recovering from chemotherapy treatments and trying to feel like a normal child; which never completely happened.

At eleven, Hermione discovered that through all her efforts to become a normal, cancer-free pre-teen, she still managed to be different. She, Hermione Jean Granger, had been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the finest school of magic in all of the United Kingdom. Magic! So yet again, Hermione was far from ordinary, and her life was about to become more difficult than she could ever imagine.

Because she had spent a majority of her time in and out of the hospital, Hermione had always found it difficult to make friends… and it seemed like Hogwarts, being the magnificent school that it was, didn't seem to be any different. She'd drained the short amount of time she had remaining at home before September first to research all she could about Hogwarts, magic, and the world that she was about to be welcomed into. However, once actually getting to Hogwarts, small, impressionable Hermione Granger discovered that everyone was not nearly as enthusiastic about things as she was; and she was often called a 'know-it-all' and there was a constant stream of teasing following her around the school from both the students and a few select teachers.

Again, Hermione managed to make it through that particular trial; finding her two best friends in the whole entire universe. Ronald Weasley, who came from a long line of vivacious red-heads with hearts and souls as big as their family; and Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and famous Boy Who Lived. After saving her from nearly being asphyxiated by a mountain troll, the trio had become inseparable. Though she then had friends, those same people also came with their own baggage. Specifically, Lord Voldemort trying unfailingly to kill Harry every single year; sometimes on multiple occasions, and often her and Ron as well.

Once more, Hermione Granger was constantly faced with the prospect of death; although this time, chances of survival didn't seem quite as attainable. Strange how that worked. Cancer… the biggest killer in the world, she'd somehow managed to survive. But a psychopathic, maniacal, hierarchy obsessed man with a wand, somehow almost killed her. However, as the saying goes 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger'. For Hermione though, the phrase went something a little more along the lines of 'what doesn't kill you, gives you an unhealthy sense of optimism and freakishly unusual coping methods'.

After the war, Hermione went back to school and a year later, graduated from Hogwarts- with honors of course- and after a short time spent in a muggle university, moved on to discover a rewarding career in Architectural Home Staging. Pausing her career for a time, she spent three months in Australia tracking down her obliviated parents; which just happened to be one of the hardest things that she'd ever done in her entire life. Find them she did, however, and though she restored their memories, Mark and Jean Granger chose to stay in Australia; having gotten rather attached to the area in the time they had spent there. So after catching up with them as best she could, Hermione returned to London; only to find that once again, her life was about to be turned completely upside down.

Marriage. It had been the farthest thing from Hermione's mind, seeing as there was always the fear that recurrence would happen with her Leukemia and she didn't want to put someone in that financial or emotional situation. That, and no one had really ever shown interest in her that way. Except maybe Cormac McLaggen, or Viktor Krum but both of those short-lived relationships were living nightmares. So she'd never really considered it. At one point, Hermione had become rather close with Ron, but it had never progressed beyond deep friendship for either of them. It had bothered her for a time, but eventually the feelings had faded. She had Crookshanks, a respectable career, and a comfortable flat in London's thriving metropolis; she had no reason to get married. The Ministry, however, had other plans. So at twenty years old, it happened that Hermione Jean Granger was lawfully tied to another human being entirely against her will.

The marriage was supposed to last ten years, according to the contract the Ministry forced them to sign; however, Hermione's "marriage" as it was, fell to shambles after seven, leading to her husband leaving her. And though she had never planned marriage for herself, Hermione found herself missing her husband, and longing for the time they had spent together.

Nonetheless, Hermione went back to her day to day life as it had been before her marriage. And as days bled into weeks, and weeks into months, she did her best to push him out of her mind, and once again, get a chance at a new life.

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At twenty-eight years old, Hermione felt it safe to say that she had seen a good many things in the world. Both bad and good, beautiful and ugly, happy and sad, and she had found that there was almost always something good to be found in every situation.

"Geesh, what did they do to this place?" Ilsa grimaced, shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other as she walked across the ditch filled grass. "I mean, we've seen some pretty bad stuff, but this is um. Wow. The pictures really didn't do it justice."

"It can't be that awful right?" Hermione offered, glancing over at her friend. "I mean, maybe the outside of the house has just gone through some really horrid weather."

Ilsa sighed, cringing as the welcome sign over the porch fell; splintering as it hit the ground. "Yeah. Weather."

"Come on," Hermione smiled, wheeling her bag across the tattered yellow lawn. "It's really not that horrible. We just have to get some guys in here to work on a few things, and then it'll be great."

Ilsa looked at her incredulously before sighing in defeat and following the witch across the uneven ground. "I suppose you could look at this as telling Ron not to eat all the sweets in the cupboard, and hoping it happens. Then coming home and realizing it didn't work," she joked, trying to cover up the fact that she had yet again, seemingly chosen an unsuccessful option. The pair of witches had been trying for months to find Ilsa a suitable place to hold her wedding, and so far, the attempts had been fruitless.

Hermione laughed, a picture of her guilt-stricken, red-headed friend popping into her head. "Yeah, but this will actually work."

Ilsa laughed along with her, and the pair pulled out notepads and walked to separate ends of the shambled house; examining the damage. Ilsa and Hermione had been partners ever since the former had begun her internship, and they had become fast friends; often spending their weekends together when they weren't working. When the Ministry had come out with the new Marriage Law, Ilsa soon found herself 'engaged' in the loosest sense of the word to Hermione's fiery red-haired companion; Ron Weasley. The pair had already known each other from Hermione's somewhat frequent visits to the Burrow, to which Ilsa had often accompanied her. Ilsa happened to also come from a lower-ranking pureblood family, so she'd known of the Weasley's before, though she hadn't met them. Ron and Ilsa had signed the contract just like everyone else, but they were now planning on holding an actual wedding, and Ilsa had chosen this place.

Of course, in the online pictures, this place hadn't looked like a run-down hotel version of the Shrieking Shack. But, the pair of witches were determined to fix it up and make it absolutely perfect for Ilsa's wedding which was planned for July. Honestly, it didn't seem as horrible as Hermione had actually thought, now that she was walking around the debilitated building. Sure, the floor was disintegrating in places, and the ceiling leaked in one corner, but that could easily be fixed. The carpet was sparse, and there wasn't any furniture left, but that would have had to be removed for the reception anyway. So really, they weren't looking at too much work. Hopefully.

Hermione's cell phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. Digging through her bag for the obnoxious metal device, she let out a small cheer of triumph when she found it; holding it lightly up to her ear.

"Hermione," greeted Dean from the other end, and the brilliant witch could hear the smile lining his features. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No don't worry," Hermione reassured him, holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she dug through her bag for her measuring tape. "I'm just scoping out a place."

"Did Ilsa find another promising one?" the ex-Gryffindor laughed, causing Hermione's small smile to stretch across her face. Dean had attended a muggle university for a few semesters with her, and the two had become close and knew most of the details of the other's life.

"Naturally. It's pretty run down though, so we're going to have to work a little bit to make it wedding appropriate. But I think she really likes this one," Hermione replied, stretching the tape measure along the bottom of the window-sill. Looping the device around her shoulder, she quickly wrote something down on her pad and moved along to the next one. "But, you probably didn't call me to discuss that did you?"

"No, unfortunately I didn't," he sighed; Hermione growing nervous at hearing the agitation in his voice. Something was up. Dean was always an optimistic, light-hearted person. So when he sounded out of sorts, something major was either bound to happen or already had. "Kingsley asked me to call you. Apparently, they managed to locate your husband, and he's back in London."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, her pen still poised above the yellow lined paper. She didn't want to believe her friend- couldn't believe him. After two years, she had finally managed to move on with her life and had assumed that her estranged husband had done the same. There had been no contact between the two, and part of her was glad that there never would be. The pair had not parted on amicable terms, and Hermione for one was sure that her husband was not one to forgive and forget.

In her silence, Dean pressed on. "Kingsley wants you to come down and talk. Probably sign a few things."

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. "Yes… okay. I'll um, I'll be down as soon as I tell Ilsa what's going on."

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Hermione had stopped in front of the Minister's office, or more accurately, at the beginning of the hall

to his office. She took a step closer, her legs feeling as if they were full of Jell-O; her amber eyes fixed on the wooden frame of the door. As she neared, she tried to imagine something awful lurking behind that door; something that would make what was in there much more desirable. She'd left her relationship with her husband behind her, and no matter what happened in that room, it would never be similar to what it had been two years ago. Like it or not, however, she couldn't help but feel drawn to that room… crazy as it was. She knew what was on the other side, and the consequences that would come from it; but part of her yearned for it.

Fastening her teeth onto her lower lip, she raised a small hand and lightly knocked on the door; partially hoping that no one would answer.

"Hermione," Kingsley nodded, sweeping the door open and gesturing for her to enter. The Minister looked displeased, which made Hermione's stomach feel as if it had become a breeding ground for butterflies.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and her eyes grew somewhat blurry as she entered the spacious office. There was plenty of space, yet she suddenly felt very claustrophobic; her hands absent-mindedly balling themselves into fists, her nails gouging crescent-shaped wedges into her palms. She needed to get a grip on things, or this would become ten times harder than it was already bound to be. Hermione's mouth went dry, and her amber eyes widened slightly as she finally faced the reality that stood in front of her; severing her from the thoughts that had been whirling through her head.

Leaning casually against the wall, inspecting his shirt sleeve buttons as though he was miraculously bored to tears, was the tall, lean, pale skinned wizard donning the light-blonde tresses that she had grown to miss. His marbled silver eyes lifted to the doorway as he heard the click of the lock, and his signature smirk stole across his features as his gaze fell on hers. He stood a little taller, and gracefully pushed himself away from the wall, his eyes glimmering malevolently.

"Look who's here," he murmured, his voice ghosting over her like a cold burst of snow. "Miss Hermione Granger. Or I suppose I should say, Miss Hermione Malfoy."